Raymond Moody

Death of a Pet

While doing some background research on Dr Raymond Moody, the father of Near Death Experiences I came across a project which he has going.

For those of you who, like me, have a pet (that’s our Truffles on the left – very much alive) or those who have lost a pet I thought you might be interested in this.

This is taken from Raymond’s website:

Grief and Death

Have you or a loved one suffered grief or had problems with the loss of a pet?

Dr. Moody is working to produce a new DVD, and possibly book, for those interested in and suffering from the loss of a pet. Many people have told stories and sought advice and solace from Dr. Moody at most of his lectures.

Often he has considered dealing with this subject but felt he had no first hand experience in the loss of a pet, only counseling and listening.

Included in this video will be a look at how pet loss differs from human loss, stories of pet transitions, empathetic death experiences between care giver and pet, preparing for the inevitable event and advice and counsel on coping and sharing the loss of a pet.

If you have a story or have had an experience with your pet and would be willing to share it please contact David Hinshaw, the producer, either by email david@lifeafterlife.com

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Meet the Author

I had a half German shorthair, half English pointer who was my dog ‘soulmate’. We communicated without words all the time. She was murdered by an ex boyfriend on Aug. 15th, 2004. She was only 2 1/2 years old. I have never really gotten over losing her that way. I always thought if I hadn’t gone to a baby shower that day I could’ve saved my ‘nanapuppy’. I asked a forensic astrologer about what happened the day she died and was told that had I stayed home, we both would’ve died that day and nothing I could’ve done would’ve saved her. I have other dogs, one of them was at home that day also but was outside, and I love them alot, but I don’t think I’ll ever find another ‘soulmate’. I’m glad for getting to have such a thing but even now, it hurts almost unbearably to remember what happened to her. Time has helped but not yet healed me.

On a rubber plantation, in 1969, one of our dogs, Kim, was a five year old, highly intelligent working sheepdog.

We had thoughts of emigrating from Ceylon, as it was then known, but leaving Kim without us was not something we felt we could do. Eventually, he was killed by a bus on the main road abutting the plantation so we decided to emigrate.

Many years later, in Australia, my daughter asked me whether my wife had ever told me about Kim and, having ascertained from her what she was talking about, I asked my wife about this and she told me that, from the time of Kim’s death to the time that we left, Kim used to disturb her at night by pacing our bedroom* and that she had to tell him to desist and go back to his bed which was in the room when he was alive.

I asked my wife why she had not mentioned this to me before and she said it was because she thought I would consider her mad!
* A roughly 7m x 7m room with wooden floors.

He showed up one day, looking in the window. He’d sit there for hours and stare. In a few weeks we took him in and named him “Chance” after the Peter Sellers Movies.

He was a tuxedo cat with white paws. He ruled the house and esp. the bed 😀 (and loved pizza).

When we moved he was 17 years old. He was an outside cat so I took him around the neighborhood – playing hide and seek with each other (Although I think he always knew where I was while *he* did all the hiding).

He enjoyed 3 or 4 Spring days exploring the area and rolling around in the grass.

After a few days of being outside he became sick.

Soon after he rolled himself up and stayed in the hallway and whimpered.

I sat beside him on the floor, all day, stroking and talking with him.

His green eyes would look up at me and he’d lick my fingers every now and then.

The next day he could no longer walk. His breathing was stilted. He was leaving us and I knew it…

We wrapped him up in his favorite afghan, went to the doctor because it was time to stop the suffering – not for our sake – for his.

All snug and cozy in his blanket, we hugged him with tears streaming down our face. Chance looked up at each one of us for a moment, licked the back of our hands and then laid his head down. He never picked it up again.

The doctor came and took him away.

For the next 31 days there was a candle burning in the window every day and night so he could find his way to his new home.

I cried for 4 weeks. Silly? Perhaps. But tears just came out by themselves. I had lost my little buddy…, I was alone now. I wanted my little heart-beat back.

I didn’t think I’d ever get over it.

Five weeks later we went to an animal shelter to look at the cats.

I felt something swat at my leg and when I looked down there was an all black cat with Chance’s green eyes. I knew right then he was coming home with us.

He’s sitting on top of the computer and never leaves my side.

He is nothing like Chance except in the way he rules the house and, of course, the bed. 😉 And even though this one is a little scamp, the house now two fuzzy heart-beats. One an echo and another who makes sure you always know he’s there!